


Deliquesce

by bluetears07



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault
Genre: Fire From Heaven, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetears07/pseuds/bluetears07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...they rode into town and went to the theater...when the news of Patroklos’ death had reached Achilles...Alexander was sitting trance-bound, tears streaming from his wide-open eyes...Hephaistion was holding his hand." – Fire From Heaven</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliquesce

Chill, gradually melting into warmth with the passing of time, came radiating from the carved stone steps the young men sat upon in the small amphitheater. Anxiously shifting to lean back against the hard surface of the step behind him, ignoring the new cold rush, Hephaistion let his right arm move from his side to rest idle along the line of the curved ledge. The solid presence of Alexander so nearby, however, chased away all lingering thoughts that still dwelled on the cold as Hephaistion glanced over at his closest friend. Whether his actions were to consciously seek out Hephaistion or not, the younger boy had shifted on the seat so as to press his back against the stone beneath where Hephaistion’s arm was resting; the tips of his fingers brushing against the prince’s plain white chiton draped on Alexander’s shoulder. In the growing darkness of waning dusk he could see the subtle up curl of the younger boy’s lips as the play started.

For the first hour or so of Aeschylus' Myrmidons the two youths watched with keen eyes as their beloved heroes’, Achilles and Patroklos, from Homer’s Iliad, friendship grew quickly from simply admiration into deep ardor to rival any great Greek love. There had been many conversations between Aristotle’s students, mainly instigated by Alexander’s curiosity, as to whether the great Greek heroes were lovers or not, and if their love had helped their rise or assisted in their inevitable fall. During the opening act, silently thanking the gods for the mask provided by the late hour, Hephaistion’s hand had, on its own accord, eventually found its way to the nape of Alexander’s neck. With gentle and tentative caresses that could have been considered very unbecoming of a Macedonian soldier, the older boy started carding his tapered fingers through every gold spun strand his fingertips touched. With Alexander’s silent consent, Hephaistion continued twining his fingers through the tinted curls. It was simply an idle habit to keep his hands busy and, of course, a restrained way to quell the itching, nearly searing need to touch Alexander that had started nagging in the back of his mind for months now.

Still staring straight ahead with the same bright eyes and rapt attention, the callused pad of Hephaistion’s thumb skidded down over the taut flesh of Alexander’s throat. The boy’s thumb pausing only to feel the thumping pulse of Alexander’s blood as the younger boy unconsciously leaned into the touch, intently watching the turmoil taking place on stage. Hephaistion’s own attention was torn in two, focusing on the storyline spelled out by the group of players and emblazoning the hard planes of Alexander’s neck and shoulders into his mind. Unnoticed, fingers slipped under the wide neck of the prince’s chiton to press against the jutting collarbone beneath. Fingertips resting in the shallow depression of skin caused by the hard bone, the older boy heard a keening cry from the man on stage.

Hephaistion, lips parted in muted shock, watched as the great, ever-immortal Achilles lamented for his lost lover, Patroklos, with such passion he felt his heart swell and his stomach writhe with empathy. The fabric of Alexander’s chiton shuffled against the older boy’s knuckles as a cold hand tugged anxiously at the collar, desperately searching out warm skin. Alexander’s hand quickly found Hephaistion’s and grasped it tightly, lacing their fingers together in a seemingly unbreakable bond and melding of flesh. Relaxing his grip, only now yielding to Alexander in comfort, Hephaistion blinked back the tell-tale burning behind his eyes and finally glanced at the boy beside him. A quiet sigh escaped his still parted lips as he saw the saline tracing down his cheekbone. Before he could stop himself, forgetting his place and the prince’s in the necessity of the moment, Hephaistion closed the small gap between them to press his face against the soft curls tucked behind the prince’s ear.

“Oh, Alexander,” he whispered, unadulterated sorrow threading through his voice as his lips ghosted along the shell of Alexander’s ear. The grip his prince had on him tightened, on the very threshold of painful, for all but a moment as Achilles began cutting off his hair in honor of his Patroklos. Finally, Hephaistion pressed the faintest kiss against the flesh where ear sloped down into a hard jaw line. “Do not weep,” the older boy crooned, biting his lower lip anxiously as he realized with a heavy heart that there was no consoling Alexander now. Anxiously, his tongue ran over the yielding flesh of his lips as his eyes flicked over Alexander’s stoic profile. He would continue trying to comfort him nevertheless. The youth’s lips pressed against the soft flesh of Alexander’s ear as he whispered fiercely, pouring every last ounce of repressed love he had nearly suffocated Alexander with when he hugged him tight into his low, murmuring voice, “…my Achilles…”

The ancient name, murmured with such conviction and reverence that Alexander had never hear before, brought him truly back from his revere, but only for a moment. He looked at Hephaistion as if it were the first he had ever laid his eyes upon the handsome youth. Under the younger boy’s piercing gaze, Hephaistion felt his heart double its beat as if he’d been running all day and finally stopped to breathe. Gaze never wavering, silent as he had been ever since the play had begun, Alexander lifted Hephaistion’s arm from wreathing around his shoulders, over his head, to rest in his lap. Tugging on the older boy’s hand, Alexander brought their linked fingers up to his lips and kissed each knuckle once. Just as Hephaistion was going to speak, Alexander was drawn back into the entrancing play. Their linked finger’s now lying in Alexander’s lap, both of the younger boy’s hands caressing Hephaistion’s.

“You know they are together now, Xander…” The older boy whispered one last time with a smile curving his voice before their educator, Aristotle, glanced in their direction. Even in the dark of night, Hephaistion reckoned that Aristotle knew when his head was bent so close to Alexander’s for so long it was not merely chatter about the players portraying their Achilles and Patroklos. From the jaded look in the old man’s eyes Hephaistion knew he had crossed some line he should not have dared step near. With regret contorting his every action, he gently tugged his hand away from Alexander’s. The younger boy glanced down for a moment but paid the action no heed as he focused back on the now vengeful Achilles. A faint red tint crept up Hephaistion’s neck, flushing the skin of his cheeks and ears with a tell-tale warmth.

It wasn’t until after the end of the play that Alexander sought out contact from Hephaistion, or that the older boy allowed it. The prince grasped his hand once again, tugging the taller boy down the amphitheater steps to rush backstage in order to thank and profusely praise the player acting in the role of Achilles. As soon as Alexander had spotted the man he walked up to him and embraced the man, gifting a golden arm band he had been wearing that day to him in praise of his stunning portrayal. Though Hephaistion knew it was simply Alexander’s insatiable infatuation with both glory and the one man who would forever embody it, Achilles, the older boy felt a twinge of jealousy as he watched the prince slip the band up the man’s arm.

Once Aristotle had apologized to the man for the young prince’s forthwith abandon and thusly very unbecoming behavior, Alexander and Hephaistion were left alone to walk back to where the horses were being stabled. The thin cloud of dusk stirred and kicked up around their sandaled feet in the dim moonlight. Silent, for he had not spoken since Aristotle’s reproachful glance, Hephaistion strode alongside Alexander. Calmly, the shorter boy paused as they reached the stables and turned to his taller companion. The same look was glinting in his bright eyes, the same that had been blazing in their depths when Hephaistion had called him ‘his Achilles.’

“If I am to be your Achilles,” he began with a smile curving up the corners of his lips, taking a step closer to Hephaistion. As soon as he was close enough he reached out and pressed his palm flat against the center of his friend’s chest, feeling through the cloth and skin the pounding heart beneath his fingertips. “Then you, Hephaistion,” he said, tipping his head back to look up into Hephaistion’s downcast face, “must be my own Patroklos.” A wistful smile painted the younger boy’s lips as he watched Hephaistion’s eyes calmly searching his own for some sign as to what he was going to next. “Right, Phai?” Alexander implored with determination curbing his tone, already knowing the answer and Hephaistion’s reply.

As soon as Hephaistion had nodded silently in consent, and the prince had murmured his approval, both of Alexander’s hands slipped to press firmly against the taller boy’s shoulders. Cocking his head to the right, turning his face up, he offered his lips to Hephaistion. A moment caught within a single breath passed as Hephaistion managed to find his motor control and moved his own hand to frame Alexander’s face. Bathed in moonlight, he leaned down the small distance and pressed his lips against the surprisingly soft flesh. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, though awkward as it was, for it was both Alexander and Hephaistion’s first surrender to true physical adoration. When Alexander tipped his head back further, lips falling open as his warm tongue slipped out to trace the slightly swollen lips of Hephaistion, a searing heat swam up from the pit of the older boy’s stomach, spreading throughout his body in a ceaseless warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> Based mostly on the novel Fire From Heaven by M. Renault (thusly all spelling stems from the novel); specifically the scene quoted in the summary. However, since I’ve watched it several times and it’s wormed its way in my mind there is a certain influence by Alexander the film. Also, I’m not 100% sure if the theater mentioned was an amphitheater similar to the Greeks or not, so please stick with me here.


End file.
